


Blotto

by AutisticWriter



Category: Harry & Paul (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: When he and Charles get drunk, Sheridan ends up telling him something that he fears could ruin their friendship.





	

When their wives wanted to see a show and Charles and Sheridan didn’t, they decided to spend the evening at Charles’s house while the women went out on their own. With a lack of programmes to watch, Charles and Sheridan ended up watching _Strictly Come Dancing_. However, Charles, (and Sheridan too, judging by the look on his face) quickly found that he had no interest in dancing at all.

“Shirley raves about this, but I don’t see the appeal myself,” he said, watching the judges give their scores with little interest.

“Yes, this is rather dreary, isn’t it?” Sheridan agreed, nodding his head.

Charles looked away from the television, and found himself staring at the drinks cabinet.

“Well, maybe a snifter of port will improve our experience?” He suggested, and Sheridan grinned.

“Go on then,” he said, as though they were schoolboys and about to do something naughty.

\---

Sometime later, the bottle of port was somehow empty. Charles didn’t see how it could have been spilled, so the only remaining option was that they had both drank all of it. When he looked at Sheridan, who was staring at the television and giggling with a blank look on red his face, and realised how woolly his head felt, and that his mouth tasted of port, it seemed obvious that that was the case.

But, despite the amount he had already consumed, Charles fancied some more alcohol.

“Would you care for some sherry, Sheri?” Charles said, and he laughed, even though it wasn’t that witty a joke.

Sheridan, however, started snorting with laughter, hunching forwards and grinning at Charles. “’Sherry, Sheri?’ Dear me, Charles, you are hysterical.”

Then, for no apparent reason, he leaned across the gap between them and patted Charles’s knee. It was an oddly intimate gesture, and Charles stared at Sheridan, not sure what he was doing. When Sheridan saw he was staring, he sat back so sharply it was as though he had burned his hand. They both stared at each other, until Charles remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

“Ah, yes, the sherry,” he said, getting to his feet.

As he did so, the room appeared to spin, and he stood very still until the sensation wore off. Then he went over the drinks cabinet as though nothing had just happened. Grinning, he picked up the bottle of sherry (which appeared to have been bottled around forty or forty five years ago; “Forty, forty five years,” he mumbled to himself) he was looking for, and went and sat opposite Sheridan again.

He opened the bottle and poured some of it into their glasses. Sheridan almost dropped his glass as he picked it up, but it just made him laugh again. But Charles just looked at his friend, wondering why he had just acted so strangely and touched his knee. He had never done that before. Except...

Charles suddenly remembered something. Sheridan had acted like that a few times in the past, but only when he was drunk. One time they had been at Cambridge University, and got very drunk after the end of their finals. To Charles’s bemusement, Sheridan had hugged him, holding on much longer than most people would.

Totally confused, Charles tried to stop thinking about it, and turned to watch the television. As he took a sip of sherry, he realised that he was right; being drunk really did make this programme more interesting.

\---

At some point, Charles realised that he needed to urinate. So, with a great deal of effort, he smiled at Sheridan and stumbled towards the downstairs lavatory. After relieving himself, which was a lot more difficult now he was so intoxicated, Charles washed his hands and unlocked the door. To his surprise, Sheridan was stood on the other side of it.

“Hello, Sheridan,” he said, smiling, “what are you doing here?”

Sheridan didn’t answer. As Charles looked at him, he realised just how nervous his friend looked. His eyes were wide, his face was flushing, and he was shaking. Charles frowned.

“Sheridan, are you—”

“Charles, can I kiss you?” Sheridan blurted, cutting him off, his face becoming even redder.

Charles stumbled slightly, his eyes widening in shock, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. Sheridan stared up into his face, his bleary eyes suddenly looking very clear. He sighed when he realised his friend looked scared; Sheridan obviously expected him to get angry, judging by the way he was tensed up, looking poised to run away. Sheridan opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t make a sound.

“Begging your pardon, Sheridan?” He said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Sheridan didn’t look reassured; in fact, he looked even worse.

“I didn’t, I—” he started to say, but he cut himself off as he lost his balance, and stumbled backwards.

Charles had to act quickly to stop him falling.

“Careful!” He cried, grabbing his friend’s arms to stabilise him.

Sheridan didn’t seem to have registered what had just happened. He was still staring up at Charles, anxiety in his eyes.

“I asked if I could kiss you,” he said. He looked steadier now, but Charles didn’t let go of his arms.

“But why?” Charles asked. He stomach churned, reminding him of just how much alcohol was in his body.

Sheridan wrung his hands together, stepping backwards and leaning against the wall. He stared down at the floor as he mumbled, “I just wanted to.”

“Look, Charles,” he said suddenly, looking up again. His eyes were shining. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t really mean to say it at all, to tell the truth. It just came out.” A small smile crossed Sheridan’s face, and he chuckled slightly. “Poor choice of phrasing.”

It took Charles’s normally super fast brain to work out what Sheridan was implying. When he did, part of him wanted to laugh, but another part was totally confused.

“But I thought you were heterosexual,” he said.

Sheridan dabbed at his now rather damp eyes with his hand, and smiled weakly. It was only the bleariness in his damp eyes and the way he was swaying on his feet that reminded Charles that he was, in fact, very drunk.

“I know you may think that I am het-, heter-, hetero- ... straight, Charles,” Sheridan said, “but I have actually always found men attractive too.”

Charles stared at the smaller man, wondering how he could have never realised this before.

“So of course I like women, and I love dear, dear Mol, trust me, but I’ve always found men att-attractive too. Well, I say men, I really just mean—”

“Me,” Charles said softly.

Sheridan nodded slightly, and then hiccupped.

“Exactly. Do you hate me now?” He asked.

Charles almost laughed, but stopped himself. “Of course I don’t!”

A small smile crossed Sheridan’s face, but Charles saw a hint of doubt. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said again. “You’re my best friend, Sheridan. This changes nothing.”

Charles smiled broadly at his friend, despite feeling incredibly confused and incredibly nauseous, feeling relieved to see Sheridan no longer looked like a rabbit in the headlights. Sheridan smiled back, but the smile slid from his face as he hunched forward slightly. He heaved, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. Charles only had time to jump backwards to protects his shoes before Sheridan doubled over and vomited over his feet.

Once he had finished, he stayed hunched forwards, and Charles could clearly hear him groaning. Slowly, he straightened up, and smiled sheepishly at Charles.

“Apologies,” he said hoarsely.

“It doesn’t matter,” Charles said. “Let’s just get this place cleaned up.”

Charles helped Sheridan to sit down, and gave him the task of wiping the vomit off of his shoes, whilst Charles dealt with the mess on the floor. It made him feel rather sick, and he could see Sheridan having similar issues. Sheridan kept apologising, no matter how many times Charles told him it didn’t matter.

After they had finished cleaning up, and Sheridan had used some mouthwash, they made their way back into the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa. Sheridan was still looking at him.

“You won’t tell anyone about this, will you, Charles?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“Of course not, Sheridan,” Charles said, giving his friend a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you can trust me after we have been friends for forty, forty five years.”

Sheridan nodded. “Yes, it must be forty, forty five years.”

“Forty, forty five years.”

“Yes, forty, forty five years.”

As they continued to babble what was really becoming a verbal tic, Charles had to smile. When they talked like this, it was almost like none of this had happened, and they were back to normal.

“No, but seriously,” Sheridan said, and now he looked serious again. “It has actually been forty three years.”

Charles smiled weakly, feeling sad when he realised that his friend had been keeping count. And then he felt even worse when he realised that Sheridan had been too scared to tell him before now.

\---

A whole bottle of wine later, Charles was, somehow, even drunker. He was struggling to speak without slurring, and he kept almost falling asleep. He dreaded to think what might happen if he tried to stand up. Sheridan looked even worse; his face was bright red and sweaty, and his curly hair was sticking up at different angles.

“SSSo, c-can I kiss you?” Sheridan asked cautiously, his slur incredibly pronounced by now. “J-Just once. T’ see what’s l-like.”

If he had been sober, Charles would have refused. Not because he was homophobic, because he wasn’t, but because he never kissed people he didn’t find attractive, and, with no offense to Sheridan, he didn’t find him attractive. But he wasn’t in any way sober, so he nodded his head.

Sheridan shuffled closer to him, and, carefully, and with an air that he had been waiting to do this for years, he leaned in and quickly pressed his lips to Charles’s. And then, just as quickly, he pulled away. And then he just sat there, staring at Charles.

“Well,” Charles said slowly; he wasn’t slurring like Sheridan, but it was hard to think of what he was trying to say. “As kisses go, that wasn’t... too bad. Not th-that I have any exper- experience with chaps of course, but, still...”

Sheridan smiled. “Th-Thanks.”

And then, just like that, Sheridan slumped against Charles’s shoulder and fell asleep.

\---

Charles jumped violently when he heard the front door slam. Sheridan, however, was too deeply asleep to notice, and carried on snoring slightly. Slightly worried that his friend (who also fancied him, he remembered) might get hypothermia, he got the throw off of the armchair and covered Sheridan with it. Testing another theory, Charles carefully pulled up on of Sheridan’s closed eyelids, and had a look at his pupil. It quickly shrunk in size in the light of the lamp, and Charles felt relieved; this meant that Sheridan didn’t have alcohol poisoning.

Then he stood still for a few seconds to let the room stop spinning, and then staggered into the hallway. According to the clock, it was two in the morning. He turned the corner and saw Shirley, his wife, and Sheridan’s wife, Molly, taking their coats off. Shirley turned her head and saw Charles, and frowned.

“Are you drunk, darling?” She said in a disapproving tone.

“No,” Charles said, and he stumbled sideways into the wall. “Yes.”

“How much have you drunk?” Shirley folded her arms across her chest.

“Uh, I think, uh ... a lot,” Charles eventually said, not able to remember what he and Sheridan had drunk at all.

“I can tell,” Molly said, smiling. “I bet Sheri can’t even stand, the silly thing – you know how he can’t hold his alcohol to save his life. Where is he, by the way?”

“Through here,” Charles said, and he led them both into the living room, where Sheridan was still asleep on the sofa.

Molly tutted, but she was smiling. Shirley went over to the coffee table and had a look at the bottles Charles had idiotically left there. She sighed, shaking her head.

“I cannot believe these two, Molly,” she said to her friend, seeming to forget Charles and the sleeping Sheridan were still here. “They’re such intelligent men, but clearly not intelligent enough to remember the daily recommended intake of alcohol.”

“Actually—” Charles tried to cut in, but she carried on talking as though she couldn’t hear him.

“Between them, they have drunk a whole bottle of port, a whole bottle of sherry, and a whole bottle of wine.”

“And two of those l-little b-bottles of cider each,” Charles added, something he would have been too sensible to say if he was sober.

“How are you even conscious?” Molly said. And then she seemed to remember that Sheridan was here, and cried, “Sheri! Is he all right? Does he have alcohol poisoning?”

“No, no,” Charles said quickly. “I checked h-his pupils a minute ago. He’s safe.”

Molly didn’t seem to believe him. She sat down next to her husband, and shook his shoulders. Sheridan awoke slowly, his eyes half open, and he groaned.

“’Lo, Mol,” he said, slurring more badly than before.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Sheridan nodded, grinning idiotically at her. She sighed and smiled fondly.

“Will you two be staying tonight?” Shirley asked Molly and Sheridan, who was slumped against his wife, clearly about to fall asleep.

“Well, I doubt that Sheridan is up to travelling like this,” Molly said.

“Fair point,” Shirley said, and Charles had to agree. “Right then, I’ll just set the spare room up for you.”

“I’ll come with you,” Molly said, and they both left the room.

Charles was left with Sheridan, who was leaning his head backwards and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Come on, Sheridan,” he said softly, “let’s get you to bed.”

\---

The next morning, Charles woke up with a hideous hangover. But he knew that, if he felt awful, Sheridan must have been feeling even worse. He rolled over and looked at the clock, and realised that it was midday, and that Shirley wasn’t in bed. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the thankfully rather dark ceiling, thinking about the events of the night before.

Most of it was just a blur, but one event stood out crystal clear. It was Sheridan revealing that he fancied Charles, and asking to kiss him. Charles remembered the confusion, and the look of complete terror on Sheridan’s face. And then he remembered letting Sheridan kiss him, and how it wasn’t as weird as he thought it might have been.

As confused as he was the night before, Charles forced himself to get up and head downstairs. Thankfully, all of the curtains were still drawn, so his headache didn’t get any worse. He felt a little dizzy, but he hoped the feeling would pass.

Charles went into the kitchen and helped himself to some aspirin, noticing that Shirley and Molly were sat at the table having coffee. The strong smell of coffee made Charles feel rather sick, and he escaped into the living room. Sheridan was curled up on his side on the sofa, looking grey and exhausted. He looked up when he saw Charles.

“Hello, Charles,” he said weakly, his eyes bloodshot and half closed.

“Hello, Sheridan,” Charles replied, sitting down at the end of the sofa by Sheridan’s feet. “How do you feel?”

“Awful,” he said.

“You’re not the only one,” Charles said, smiling and rubbing his aching forehead.

“Charles?” Sheridan whispered, his voice suddenly shaking with what must have been nerves. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“Yes,” Charles said softly.

Sheridan’s washed out, pale face flushed red.

“Yes, I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Charles said.

He wasn’t angry with Sheridan; what he had told him was rather strange, but it was fine. He didn’t mind that Sheridan fancied him. He was probably the only man in the whole world who would say that, but it was true.

“I still stand by what I said, Sheridan,” he said.

“Really?”

“ _Yes_ , Sheridan,” he said, truly meaning it.

“Thank you, Charles,” Sheridan said, beaming at him. “You’re a great friend.”

And Charles didn’t move away when Sheridan pulled him into a hug.


End file.
